


let the morning come

by callunavulgari



Category: Homestuck, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Desperation, Gen, Magic, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I offer my aid to you, Loki Silvertongue,” you breathed, feeling your Sight tickle behind your eyes—offering you glimpses of what the two of you could do together. You see distant planets and strange creatures—the man before you wreathed in green fire, a wild smirk on his lips, and yourself, skin gone grey, your body dripping darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let the morning come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caitthecursed @ tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=caitthecursed+%40+tumblr).



> Once upon a time, caitthecursed responded to a meme, saying: Twelve and seven are roommates. Is it a disaster, or do they somehow function perfectly together? Which one gets the “scary roommate” tag from friends and significant others? 
> 
> Considering that twelve and seven are Rose Lalonde and Loki Odinsson, I'd say they both get the scary roommate tag. This was supposed to be longer and make more sense, but my brain only offered a snippet.

Your friends tend to not visit your home very much. When they are in town, they always think up reasons for you to go out—dinner or parks or movies, but rarely do they step foot inside your place of residence.

 

You aren’t entirely sure if it’s your decor that puts them off or if it’s your roommate. After all, few people appreciate your sense of style—the skulls, perfumed incense, and ancient tomes of black magic tend to make them anxious. But nothing gets them skittering away, stammering excuses faster than the appearance of a creature who’d once taken out most of New York City, a god straight out of mythology books.

 

Even those you played the game with are wary of him. You're all familiar with godhood, having  _been_ gods yourselves, however brief a time. You think that you might understand their fear of him a bit better if they weren’t already used to dealing with you—you whose feeble human mind houses the horrorterrors of deep space—you who could go mad and destroy the world faster than all these so called ‘super villains’ combined. Perhaps it’s that they aren’t as familiar with him as they are with you. Trust issues, you think, run in this little family of yours thicker than molasses.

 

You’d been surprised when he’d come to you, smelling of wildfire and distant galaxies, and regarded you from your door step for a moment before nodding.

 

“You’ll do,” he’d said, and pushed his way past you into the house.

 

It seems that a distant god’s idea of punishment is to banish his sons to your world when they misbehave, a one-trick pony, in your humble opinion. He’d needed a place to stay where he would be safe from all those who still wished to kill him, and apparently your humble abode qualified.

 

“Why here, though?” you had asked him, once he’d gotten through his half-assed explanation.

 

He’d looked at you, curiously, as one might regard an insect that they had never seen before. “You reek of the terrors in the dark parts of space, Rose Lalonde. Your magic calls to mine, kin to kin. Can you not feel it?”

 

You had felt the odd tug, but you’d assumed that it had been no more than curiosity. “So you want protection,” you had said, giving him a perplexed look. The words fit strangely in your mouth, and you know before he opens his own that that was not what he’d meant.

 

He laughed, the sound like broken glass and nightmare sounds, giving you a fond look, like you’d amused him. “I need no protection, girl. But a partnership I may have some need of, should my enemies come for me.” He leaned forward, and the hand that he laid on yours had raised the horrorterrors whispering song to a shout. “You have seen what I have seen. You know the dangers of the void and beyond. I would seek your aid—your hospitality, should you choose to offer it.”

 

You’d regarded him, puzzled and intrigued in equal measures, before offering your hand to him. “I offer my aid to you, Loki Silvertongue,” you breathed, feeling your Sight tickle behind your eyes—offering you glimpses of what the two of you could do together. You see distant planets and strange creatures—the man before you wreathed in green fire, a wild smirk on his lips, and yourself, skin gone grey, your body dripping darkness. When you blinked, the image faded, just another possibility.

 

You smiled at him, marveling at what he could teach you, given time.

  
“When do you move in?”


End file.
